


Nerf gun professionals

by Spacegaywritings



Series: Poly-opposites and other riots [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Behaviour Modification, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I promise this is soft, No noncon, Therapy, but it is not too severe bc they get help, kiddo emile, later therapist emile, mentioned hfeiojs, mentions of neglect and abuse, mentions of panic and anxiety, punishment system, retailer worker virgil, reward system, self deprication, so this is my attempt at comfort/fluff, therapist remy, there is NO focus on the panic shit here it is just, they are stressed and all and get therapy, unconventional therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21932026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacegaywritings/pseuds/Spacegaywritings
Summary: (SFL tag - minor refs to sad topics but good endings for all!)Emile remembers how to deal with certain issues.Therapy is the key but the methods used are not for everyone. Good thing they are good at choosing whom to expose to these methods afterall.This is how he got around to helping others.
Series: Poly-opposites and other riots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579429
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have been planning to start a remilexiety series and this shall be the first !  
> See it as a Christmas/Hannukkah/Yule/Winter/summer present, my dear folks ♥ (a little belated)
> 
> I had been planning to write a bitch therapy story and was then inspired by BM and also the post about the nerf gun therapist c: ♥ (there will be a part 2 but a3o wont let me edit it in just yet)

Emile settled in the waiting room, book in his hands and once he was seated in the cool chairs, he placed it on his lap.  
  
He was not sure why he was here. Well, that was not quite true - he knew why but he did not know how it just came to this.  
It had all started with some talk in class, then his teachers talking to him a lot in private and sending him to the guidance counsellor.  
  
Up until now, he still had no idea why he would need so much time spent around adults when he was so young and should take time to find friends and learn because he was in school.  
Were people not supposed to learn in school?  
  
Now he was sitting here. The adults having assigned him with something they called therapy. He did have some sort of introductory talk before and he was allowed to say what kind of therapist person he wanted to have.  
He had chosen someone with a funny name. He did not know his surname and usually, he was not allowed to know or use the first names of adults but he was allowed this time!  
  
He was sitting there, flipping the b´page of his book - actually, it was a comic book but he read books too! Sometimes...  
He just liked comic books more. Everything was good in comic books and it taught him many things about people and relationships like friendships.  
  
“Emile Picani”  
  
A voice called out his name, bringing him back to reality and away from the space adventure that was happening to his favourite group.  
Again, he really liked comics and that one was about people who wanted to unite a lot of societies not just across one but many planets! It was a huge task and sometimes, they questioned everything and wondered whether they could do it or not.  
He could oddly relate to it. Why? He did not know, not really.  
  
Emile got up and walked over to the receptionist who had welcomed him at first.  
He flashed the nice man in front of him a smile and was told a room number to go to so he would see the man who was supposed to heal his mind.  
What was so wrong about his mind? He did not know that either, he just thought a lot and felt so little. When he felt, it was so strong, he did not like it so he usually just smiled it away. It made interactions much easier, too! Especially with people who did not like him too much.  
  
The teen nodded and smiled again, the corners of his lips pushing up and invading the area of his cheeks for just a moment before he let them retreat to their usual position.  
He walked, his steps echoing through the halls. There were paintings and some other things hanging and it kind of smelled of tea. Well, he enjoyed tea. Tea was warm.  
  
In no time, he had found the room number. There were just about three rooms, nothing he could really miss and the numbers increased from left to right as the door indicated.  
The adolescent moved along and stopped before the door, extending his hand to knock - he was a polite child after all!  
But before he could even move his fist towards the wood, a voice called.  
  
“Alright, come in, I am only waiting for you - nobody else, hun.”  
  
Emile blinked, his heart thumping against his chest. Maybe he was nervous now, he was not sure but it made him shift a bit before he pressed against the door to let himself in. The door had neither been closed nor fully opened so the angled had not let him see the therapist before.  
He was still curious about seeing a man who was called Remy. It seemed so funny to him.  
  
“Just close the door. I made you tea, lemon is alright with you? We gotta spill some scalding shit here so we should get to it as soon as possible.”  
  
Emile could sense his chest constricting a tad as a heavy and grey cloud shoved itself into his mind.  
Was this a test or something people would ask him just to tell him he was wrong like his parents did? He was not sure but he liked lemon tea, he guessed. He only drank tea when he was sick and he liked lemons but they were really sour.  
Still, that made it somewhat better. Sour things made him laugh and it was better than jokes he heard that he did not understand or made fun of people who were female or blond or working as caretakers.  
  
His parents had only agreed to have him go there under swearing against him and accusing him of causing so much trouble. Also, they said things about Remy in a mean tone after they heard that he was supposed to be counselled by a man.  
What was wrong with that?  
He did not know. Everyone could be a superhero after all and just change the world! And he would do the same, hopefully. He would make the world better and make himself proud and find awesome friends who were nice like him!  
  
“uh-um..”, he stuttered out, still holding onto the door he had pushed aside before.  
It was a division between the outside and Remy’s office, it was between him and the stranger with the nice smelling tea.  
The man was dressed in black from what he could see. Black pants and a leather jacket but he could only see him from the back because he was probably getting the tea he had referred to.  
  
It smelled like tea.  
Not much but there was the faint scent of something strong in the air. Yes, the fruity fragrance of lemons as he knew them was floating around the area and gracing his nostrils ever so gently. But there was more, there was a strong and dark smell and it was somewhat sweet and soothing.  
He liked the smell.  
If it smelled a lot like this in here, then probably these visits would be easy to manage.  
  
“Em, right? I won’t eat you. I want the door closed so nobody listens to what you tell me about. Alright?”, the voice piped up once more.  
It was then that he realised how the voice was space. The voice gave him room and choice and while he was unsure about the stranger before him, the voice seemed … neutral. There was nothing dark nor was there anything light about it and if he had to give Remy’s voice a colour, then he would probably call it some sort of green thing, but .. the olive kind of green that looked tasty but also rather reserved.  
  
It was powerful and somewhat endearing.  
  
He did not exactly know how to deal with that so just did as he was not told but suggested to act before. So the teen closed the door, carefully pushing the handle down to not make any noise.  
  
Never make a noise. It was a rule.  
One of the many rules not written anywhere but learned from experience and many, many mistakes.  
He knew them by heart.  
  
While Emile went over to the couch where nothing and nobody was but the promise of the start of something interesting, something vague and oddly appealing, he dwelled on his thoughts for a bit.  
Rules were good.  
He did not know the ruled for therapy but he could ask Remy about it or just dive into it and learn from his mistakes because Remy would show him. But what if that would end in a lot of hurt, too?  
  
He sighed in order to calm himself and settled onto the couch, his fingers rubbing against the comic that was still in his left.  
The adolescent sat on the couch, knees angled and feet pressed into the ground as the dark figure was shaking his hips and humming.  
  
Did tea take this long?  
  
The answer was in the room for no longer than the thought had crossed his mind because Remy turned around, dark brown tray in his hands which he carried before his chest and brought over as he approached the younger client.  
Emile shrunk into himself and shifted into the corner of the couch that was further away from Remy.  
The therapist was wearing.. sunglasses?  
  
The man in black settled the tray onto a clear coffee table between the couch he was on and the recliner the elder eventually settled on.  
Black boots clacked snappily as he dropped into the piece of furniture which simply groaned in reply.  
  
The teenager noted the white shirt on the other. So he was not all black! For some reason, he had already wondered. Not that he would have minded it. Somehow, the idea was actually soothing.  
However, the other was wearing this eggshell white shirt with a black imprint on it.  
  
“Sleep”  
  
Uh.. why sleep? Was he sleep? Did he need sleep? Did he want people to sleep?  
Was Emile supposed to get something out of this or not?  
Again, bugs and spiders crawled up the rope that were strings leading up to his heart, connecting his body’s whole organisation to it and stabilising the important organ.  
The thought had something iffy about it and he felt his hand flinch away, dropping his comic book.  
  
“Oh, I- I am s-so..sorry!”, he blurted out immediately, his voice hot in a rushed stutter.  
It was like running on a clock.. The time was running fast, so fast and chasing after him that he was so confused and stressed about it, he could not help but get his feet tangled up under his lungs that threatened to collapse when the world was so scary and never stopped haunting him no matter how much he cried and screamed for it to stop.  
The teenager quickly dropped to his knees, his hands scarping over the carpet underneath his comic book before he could manage to gather it in his hands and scoop it up with him.  
  
His actions felt so rushed, his head was a bit dizzy when he got back up to the couch and turned around to meet Remy before he could crush down over him like the bolting world that was on his feet, the walls of smoke and breathlessness catching up to him after he would stumble over his own anxiety and finally bust himself into the ground beneath him.  
  
Remy had not moved, he was sitting there, getting comfortable and barely minding his business.  
  
Emile felt hot. So hot, he must have been sweating even though he barely did anything.  
  
“You reading comics?”  
  
Emile felt exposed.  
Did he do something wrong?  
He was the kid with the hands on the biscuit jar but there were no biscuits in it, there never had been any.  
The client swallowed and let his head snap down. Upon realising that bowing his head instinctively did not count as nod, he immediately jerked his face upwards again and repeatedly nodded.  
  
Remy crossed one leg over another, his lips doing a weird thing that Emile could not describe. It was like.. if his mouth had a hand to move it as if to present something or introduce someone, then this would have been the thing his lips just did. They kinda.. kinda turned up to one side but just a bit so Emile might have been wrong.  
He was wrong about a lot of things so he probably should not say anything about it. He usually thought he saw things but people told him there was nothing or he must have imagined it.  
And adults were always right, right? They would be alarmed over bad things so if they did not react, it would be all fine because there was no danger.  
  
Right?  
  
The therapist did not move, did not do anything.  
Emile did not even know whether he was looking at him or perhaps spontaneously asleep.  
His mom did it sometimes. Sitting across him and falling asleep but when he would move, it was just enough for her to wake up and snap at him to stop moving.  
Was this another test? Like the tea?  
  
Emile placed the comic back onto his lap and sighed carefully, his fingers entangling.  
  
The therapist did not really say much, just reached for the teacup that was his. The liquid in it looked dark, kind of reddish but it was soothing too. It was probably the source of all that nice smell and it fit into the whole room.  
  
“Sounds metal. What are you reading?”  
  
Emile furrowed his eyebrows and thought about it. With a little bit of deliberation, he carefully picked up the comic book and squeezed it between his fingers before he handed it over.  
Remy made a gesture, placed his cup down after sipping from the steaming liquid and then took the book.  
  
The lemon tea before Emile was steaming and he looked at the little water particles dancing in the little light that was in the room.  
Again, that was another thing he did not understand. Were all therapy rooms so dark? It felt like a dragon’s liar in the interesting comic books he got his hands on sometimes. The library did not allow certain things for teens to be taken home but he could read them locally if nobody caught him. He had read this in one of these. Usually, they were in some sort of cave with little light and that was usually coming from warm shines of fire.  
The light in here? Filtered through dark curtains that had funny patters with many shapes and colours.  
  
Funny looks. But he would not know how to explain it. Just very loaded with a lot of round shapes. The colours felt.. natural instead of flashy.  
  
It was nice to have such a comfortable darkness but with a stranger around, he kind of felt ...not so comfortable.  
In school, everything was showered in light and he was uncomfortable too. At home, everything was always illuminated by white lights and he hated those too. They hurt his eyes.  
  
He kept looking around a bit, not knowing what he was supposed to do, really.  
Remy flipped the library good in his hands and adjusted his glasses.  
  
“Star strikers, huh..”  
  
He received the comic back with shaky hands and carefully hugged it against his chest.  
Was the comic bad? Did he do a bad thing?  
  
“Yo, Em. Do me a favour and don’t spoiler me the thing. I only just started and don’t need someone to tell me the ending - I know this is the second to last volume.”  
  
The adolescent blinked.  
What?  
There was so much information in this response that he had to slowly unpack it like after a big grocery shopping trip when he had to put all things away. It was always one by one. At first, he had been really overwhelmed with these things but now he was used to it.  
He was, however, not used to someone talk to him like this... like a person who did not expect something from him for performance but who wanted to hear him for him being him. It was more than shooting the solutions for some question on a test or saying whether he did his chores or not.  
  
“uh-uh.. d-do you.. you kn-kno,. know it?”  
  
Dang this silly stutter! It was so ridiculous! He hated hearing it so much, it was so unpleasant and made others feel stupid around him like he was making fun of them and he did not. If Remy thought that maybe he w-  
  
“Oh yeah, I actually just started the series. It is pretty good so far. They are from the library?”  
  
Emile nodded carefully.  
Only his mind held him back from smiling but his heart was betraying his logic, telling him that he was allowed to hope now.  
  
“The library has good ones. If you want, I can bring you another one you should try next time. You seem to be about to finish the series in a hot minute.”  
  
Emile tilted his head a bit, his heart jumping delicately like a cat trying to reach for a certain bit of funny loose strings that were just attention-grabbing enough for them to spend time on it and invest energy in jumping against it and claw for the teasing treat.  
  
“Y-you wh.. you would w-what?”  
  
Remy shrugged his shoulders and gestured vaguely into no specific direction.  
  
“You heard me, Em. I will trade comics with you. Just be nice to them and don’t roll them up into a joint or whatever kids your age usually do.”  
  
The adolescent blinked rapidly at the words, trying to process the whole load of information that was just dumped onto him. It sort of felt like social interaction usually went for him. Or what science class felt like on some days.  
After some more time of just staring at the therapist with a slightly agape mouth (much like a fish through the thick glass it was behind), he eventually got himself to simply let his head lean in a bit as if to indicate a nod. It was more a shadow of a rather crappily executed nod and nobody would take it serious but Remy made a sound of acknowledgement before sipping on his tea again.  
  
Oh.  
The tea.  
Yeah, damn. He was.. he was not focused on the tea at all. He should probably drink it before Remy would think of him as a rude rowdy kid.  
His hands extended to the tea and they gently wrapped around them. At first, just carefully tapping against the presumably hot mug to test the current temperature and palpability.  
  
He blew it and gently sipped a bit at the hot liquid.  
It was not steaming too much anymore and it was hot but not scalding at last. When he swallowed, his body felt familiarly warm inside and he could not help but smile and curl up, mug In his hands.  
Emile cuddled into the corner of the couch and carefully continued blowing at the tea and carefully drinking it in minuscule steps.  
  
“Thanks”, he mumbled softly, “it is really good.”  
  
Remy nodded, a little smile hushing over his face for just a moment.  
Emile acknowledged the the sight but his mind wondered whether it was just the shades on his face bringing a shadow over his lips for long enough he might just assume it to be a smile. Or even wish for it.  
Maybe it was just the curtains moving a bit so it drew a little darkness over Remy.  
More darkness then there was already in the room. The afternoon sun streamed into the room but it was mostly blocked off after all.  
  
“You are welcome, Em. If you want to, you can tell me a bit about yourself. You are probably not here to just drink tea after all - at least I hope so. I am sort of too expensive for just a bit of tea. Oh, well. I do have some badass biscuits if you want to try them.”  
  
He reached over to get a little jar from the lower part of the coffee table. It was one of these tables that was basically having two levels of space for putting and storing things.  
Emile did not know why but he sure liked them. They were practical and usually looked nice. It was also a bit magical to just take something out from underneath and suddenly have a whole new object to acknowledge around you.  
It also saved space and hid things away. He liked hiding things away to make sure they were safe from people getting his things..  
  
Emile shifted a bit.  
Oh, the question. There was more than just drinking tea and eating biscuits to this after all.  
  
“Uh.. um, well..”, he started but trailed off as his mind warped around him like a clingy toddler, refusing to do what it was supposed to do when it technically could just do that without too much trouble other than a bit of effort.  
“Mhm..”, he hummed. Then his shoulders rose up and dropped for a shrug.  
  
“I g-guess my te-teach..teachers were re-.. uh.. really (!) wo-worried b-b-but .. I uh.. I m-mean.. I d-do not kno-knoww. Mhm.. I-I think it is s-stupid- m-my pa-parents say it-it is-WoAH !!”  
  
The adolescent had started out well and was doing his best to keep up with all the new things around him.  
But. But this??  
He grabbed his tea, his fingers curling around it like greedy bastards who would not let go off their treasure without a whole lot of a fight.  
Did something just hit him? Did…-  
  
His eyes found Remy before him, looking for help and explanations.  
Remy held about every explanation he could have needed.  
  
The therapist leaned back again, legs crossing once more. In just a moment of stuttering some thoughts out of his system and checking his tea and fingers rather than looking at the other, so much had happened.  
The man was holding a bright orange thing of plastic… the shape- the shape reminded him of one of these guns they used int the comic they had just talked about. Plasma blasters. But it was quite as big or simple. It looked oddly intricate as if to make an expression with neon orange and some grass green features to it.  
  
It gave it some depth and Remy added to the reality of the aesthetic by blowing non-existent steam off the barrel as if it had been hot from the shot he had just fired at the clueless adolescent.  
..The pose also made him look like some sort of comical cowboy, Emile thought. Remy looked like the most non-threatening adult ever. His bullets did not even hurt.  
  
“You might want to rephrase this.”  
The therapist’s voice sounded deeper and Emile would swear into his adult years that the whole room had gotten several shades darker and the temperature multiple degrees cooler in just a moment of exchanging what he assumed to be eye contact.  
  
…Maybe he did not hurt him but the tone of his words still gave his mind the right push to start thinking again.  
Emile blinked and looked back at the calming, yellowish, murky colour of his tea.  
  
“I -I.. mhm”, he hummed and sighed at the beverage in his hands. Emile took another sip. Calm, stead. Warming and soothing.  
“The-the t-teachers are-are w-worried. I um.. I ehr.. b-be..behave u-unlike other k-k-kids.”  
  
Remy nodded.  
  
“Very good. Don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you. And you won’t say mean things about your issues. I don’t give two fucks about what your parents or teachers think. I am the professional here and it is on me to determine what the fuck is going on - if there is anything going on with you that troubles you a lot.  
Got it?”  
  
Emile swallowed, his grip around the mug loosening a bit and his lungs felt..patted softly.  
  
“Y-yes.”  
  
“Great. You’re doing well, Em. Take a biscuit.”  
  
It continued after this. Whenever Emile would say even one remotely degrading thing about himself and his issues, Remy would shoot. On the other hand, talking about himself in neutral or positive terms was encouraged with praises and nods or even smiles. When Emile learned a new thing, he would get a biscuit and was allowed to ask a question about Remy (to be asked now or later).  
  
When Emile looked back at this day, he knew with a confident certain of 1+1=2 that this had been the day he had met Remy, the day he finally received a perspective for a life, an actual life in the future. It was also the day to fuel his interest in other people and social interactions. So much that it sparked the interest within him to be a mind doctor like Remy. A person who knew things and read others for their own benefit.  
Even after therapy and treatment, Emile had seen Remy as his unconventional yet helpful mentor who got him out of his neglectful and loveless home and through studying psychology until he was a licensed therapist himself.  
  
His present had been the gun that had stroked him with the idea of other people being wrong about him. It had been Remy’s arm to reach out for him and get some sense into his mind and open his eyes to see just how bad people around him could be and how harmful internalised prejudice and hatred was.  
  
Even self-hatred.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil struggles with some stuff as he faces adult life on his own. Work is a pain in the ass but at least his trusty therapist is by his side to support him. Even with nerfing him whenever he is being a bitch about himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy reading this. It is just a fun thing and does not depict stereotypical therapy.  
> ♥ have a great day, drop into the comments or sth if you wanna or visit my writing tumblr (https://spacegaywritings.tumblr.com/) especially if you need me to TAG something! I will tag it, just please tell me if I am missing out on anything. I would not like to end up hurting anyone just because I missed out on some tags.

Emile remembered the moment fondly, the moment he had made the acquaintance of the most satisfying method of fixing problems and making progress in life.  
His hands wrapped around the toy and he knew this would be great, if not for the nostalgia attached to it and the symbolism it carried.  
It would be great for him and his client.  
  
He pocketed the precious holder of memories and carefully straightened his outer appearance in order to ready himself for his new client.  
When the time rolled around, his expected guest arrived, early as usual and hunched over as he carefully knocked, skinny knuckles hitting the white and pink door he had between him and the hallway.  
  
“Come in!”, Emile piped up, his words direct. It was the voice of a friend, a really unpredictable friend but in the most admirable sense.  
Upon his words, the person stuck their head in, a head of blonde poking out of the little space between door and frame as they waited. They stared into the other, eyes timid and focusing on the floor rather than Emile - not longer than for a blink of an eye anyway.  
  
“There you are, little gem! Come in, sit down. This is your appointment after all.”  
  
His left hand accentuated his words as he pointed at a couch opposite his baby pink recliner.  
Seriously, who the heck had a pink recliner? At least the couch was beige.  
  
When he had started coming to therapy with Emile for the very first time, he had expected more professionalism, more coldness and walls that were distant and closing in on him. Instead, he had been met with a guy collecting pop figures and making cartoon references and puns all the time.  
It was silly and seemed so ridiculous but still, Virgil appreciated the unconventional form of professionalism he was surrounded with in this area.  
  
Concerning his previous therapists, they never gave him the impression they were just as much of a person as he was. They were usually just these superior people who would tell him he was wrong or unstable and needed to be monitored and whatnot.  
Well, maybe he did. And even if he did, there were better ways to say it than (figuratively) pointing knives at him and telling him to sit back down when he wanted to leave.  
  
“Hi”  
Blunt, simple.  
Virgil.  
  
Emile gave the blonde an affirmative nod.  
The client carefully rushed over to the couch and curled up on it. He was a precious ball of anxiety and one that Emile admired for trying so hard. The kid did not have an easy life but then again, who did ever really not experience any struggle at all in a world like this?  
  
“Welcome back, Virgil. How has your week been so far?”  
  
It was a Wednesday. Usually, this was the day during which Virgil needed the most amount of emotional catharsis since it was just in the middle of a five-day working week. Several days have hurt him already and tired him out, making him question reality and whether anything was really worth all this fucking bullshit. Then, there were still days ahead of him.  
Mondays were shit but they were so fresh in the week, it was not needed to really get all therapeutic already and Tuesday was still in his mental capacity to deal with this shit but after Wednesday, the stress and frustration was out of the usual spectrum he could handle without snapping at people around him, even the ones he liked.  
  
Fridays were just the days he needed for a nap and Thursday was basically the stepping stone to Friday so there was the logic in his choice.  
It was been fascinating to hear the tall gem talk about his intricate rumination about which day was perfect for him to choose for his therapy when he had one in seven to decide on.  
  
Virgil would just tell him that it was him bullshitting through life and making a drama out of every decision he had to make when there was nothing to be concerned about but he still was and it did not make any sense and it was so stupid and stole time and was a waste and he would DIE deliberating all the shit he was too scared to do without thinking about it and then he would already be dead before committing to a decision because he was such a fucking DUMBass, EmiLe!  
  
“Ugh.. Well, bullshit. Everyone is a Karen and getting on my nerves and it sucks but I never complain because it is useless and I am just, ugh.. well yeah, whining and all that shit and I suck anyway. It is stupid to think it matters or to wanna try but it would be nice.”  
He shrugged, his lips pressed together into a thin line.  
  
Emile nodded sagely, his eyes blinking a quick moment in sympathy.  
“Ah, Virgil. You are expressing a lot of negativity here.”  
  
The blonde sighed and shrugged his shoulders.  
“Yeah, I get it”, he started, his words muffled by his hands as he put his face into the grappling apparatuses of his body. He leaned into his own lap and tugged at the hood of his self-made and very much sleeveless hoodie. His shoulders were covered by a thick layer of an older biker-style jacket.  
“I get it. I do.”  
  
His face rose from the asylum of his powerful hands. It just barely got out of reach and its features already poured down like raindrops in a thunderstorm.  
“You say we need positivity - I need it or whatever. I bring negativity into the room by talking shit about me and others. I get it, but this is what I do. I don’t say nice shit about me or others or whatever. That is just not me.”  
  
His shoulders flinched in the camera flash of a sudden shrug.  
“Just.. Just - It is whatever and positivity won’t do shit because I am like a lost cause or something. Ugh, I don’t know. It- it is whatever, yeah.”  
  
Emile’s eyebrows drew together like a bundle of dark clouds accumulating for a horrendous thunderstorm.  
“Virgil, you might want to rephrase this. You know that you are better than what they make you feel like and if they matter, then so do you and it is important to remind yourself of how much you are worth. Just remember that your words are as significant as everyone else’s. You are not any less than your co-workers and you have done so much in life alrea-”  
  
The addressed client sighed in exasperation and gave Emile a glare, almost as if offended or ready to tackle.  
The therapist knew better than to feel insulted or personally attacked by the impulsive client. He had learned over some time that Virgil struggled to keep himself together whenever it got slightly emotional for him. He was rather sensitive. Not that Emile minded. It was yet another thing he needed to pay attention to. Virgil was always ready to pounce and while he was not violent towards Emile, we way certainly ready to verbally shoot a full magazine at whoever dared to dip into his issues or trigger his anxiety.  
  
“I know”, he barked at the other and the therapist stopped. His jaw clasped together like a zipper and it stayed shut as Virgil ran a hand through his hair and let the back of his feet move from and against the floor as if to tap a rapid rhythm. If it was one, it would be yet another song featured on his album of personal hell. This one in particular would probably be called “emo nightmare” because feelings were a pain and they made him fidgety.  
“I know but it does not matter, none of it ever matters” It is all stupid and just shit and and - They don’t care! Why do they not care if I matter so much, Picani! They never even bother to fucking ask about my opinions or my schedules because they do not fucking mind me being a human being. I am nothing to them or anyone.”  
  
He shrugged, his shoulders falling into a slump as he rolled back into the soft island of his safe, beige couch. Ugly but at least a space in which he knew himself to be okay in, a space in which he was certain he was not to be attacked by anyone.  
Well, anyone but himself. He was a beast. His best and only friend but still his worst judge and enemy at the same time because he committed so many bullshit mistakes of course someone needed to hold him accountable for all these things.  
  
..Sometimes it felt like life was hard enough but his personal anxiety and panic was even harsher with him than this world had already been on him.  
  
He took a deep breath, the oxygen echoing through his body and leaving the fleshy walls of his vessels shake in sudden intrusion.  
Oh his panic did not like breathing.  
  
Then, for no apparent reason or maybe about every reason there could be, a dull sensation hit his shoulder and his teary eyes ripped their gaze from the nothing that was his life back to reality.  
Things were slurry to his mind but Emile seemed so clear before him.  
  
Orange, such a fucking stingy and intrusive colour. It was like looking into the sun right after leaving the dark bedroom of safety.  
Such a fucking colour. It seemed so surreal in the blob of pastels and soft soft colours that Virgil needed to squint at his therapist to make sure he saw what he saw. As in what he saw was actually real, it was there and happening and not some odd thing his anxiety whispered into his memories to mess with his perceptions.  
  
Cognitive distortions or something, had his psychiatrist explained to him. Sometimes he wondered whether Mister Vega was more capable than Picani but he would not run into this place all the time if he found no use in it.  
  
“The.. the fuck?”, he stammered.  
His mind focused more and more, clearing the blurry veil that seemed to angrily drape itself over his concentration and when it was all crystal clear and safe as day, Virgil identified the orange piece of shit to be a child’s toy.  
  
“Did you shoot me? Did you fucking shoot me, is this what we are going to do now?”  
  
Virgil’s words seemed acidic, being spat out and examined with his hateful gaze that burned in the dark eyes of his eminent self. His voice, however, was still shaky and stumbled as securely as a high teenager when trying to make a snack at 3am without their parents noticing.  
  
Memories and shit.  
  
Emile offered him a smile.  
That bitch.  
  
Virgil sneered in response but left the other room for speaking so he could explain himself for the audacity he had committed with his unusual actions. Emile was actually not that much of a daredevil but more of the sweet nerdy therapist who still kinda stuck with Virgil enough for the punk to keep him in his life.  
Partly because he could at least afford it with his insurance.  
  
“Well Virgil, see. You got an issue with negativity and talking yourself down and you find too much comfort in the mentally self-harming behaviour of - if you will - trash-talking all about yourself you seem fitting at the moment.”  
  
The punk blinked and opened his mouth just to, much like a fish, close it again instead of sharing any sounds with the other. Communication was all about listening to and right now, he was not in the mental state to give a comeback to his therapist, oh no. Those words had hit too close to home at this moment.  
  
“We will do something more helpful. While we could have you exercise self-deprecation to your liking, we could work on your language and your thoughts but more important, we have to change your attitude as a start. It will be hard but all is hard in therapy and life and we can do it together.”  
  
Virgil nodded.  
This sounded more like something he could catch up on at this moment.  
So.. he talked shit about himself and Emile was tired of his bullshit so he wanted to change his mind rather than his.. his words because one caused the other or whatever.  
Vega had mentioned something like that before, yeah. Whatever bullshit.  
  
“Uh.. um, yeah.”, Virgil commented carefully.  
To be honest, his mind was wiped out, it was all blank and for once neither anxiety nor biting sarcasm were there to take the wheel and direct his speech like he would need it.  
...He was almost helpless, not knowing how to deal with no voices and no trouble in his mind.  
The client was immersed in the situation, anxiety turned off. Maybe Emile’s childhood dreams have shot it to death. Served it right, that fucking bitch. It was annoying as hell... Virgil still could not help but will this trash beast a bit. He had given it a name and such and well, it was kind of not so bad.  
  
Was that a bad thing? Emile said it was good to have a connection to his feelings and indentify thoughts and feelings coming from him.  
  
Emile smiled and let the toy drop into his lap, clapping his hands together, he nodded over at the other to resume speaking.  
“You were saying?”  
His chin dipped down a bit, angling as if to give Virgil’s a toddler-intended sweet view to his soft, sundrop orbs.  
  
Virgil let his lips divide for a moment, his lower one retreating for his tongue to wet it.  
He was out of words, out of his mind and all out of clues.  
  
“Uh..I .. I forgot the um.. the question - “, he admitted in a state, somewhere between confusion and the feeling of being lost and dropped right into the ocean.  
  
“You wanted to talk about your time at work and how your week has been so far. Any progress at talking to your co-workers or communicating with the costumers?”  
  
Virgil shrugged, lips pulled into a quirky wave more than anything else.  
”Ah, I mean, I guess? The costumers still suck but not all. Just some and the majority is just there. A nice lady told me I did a good job and some pal stood up for me when there was another asshole costumer so I think this is okay.”  
  
He shrugged again, his shoulders flinching upwards as if to prove a point with their jumping.  
“And the whole co-worker thing.. I mean, they still suck but I care less I guess. I don’t know, really. I just.. Maybe I gave up but it does not bother me too much.”  
  
Picani smiled and nodded again, the gun resting in his lap rather than his hands.  
  
“So you feel less intensely about all these incidents?”  
  
Virgil nodded, his shoulders immediately going up and falling back into place right after.  
“Yeah but it still hurts and such. But not as much. Maybe it is good? The costumers just get on my nerves but the issues at work kinda still bother me.”  
  
The therapist nodded sagely once more, letting out a thoughtful hum.  
“You told me you tried talking to them before?”  
  
The therapy session continued with several exchanges like this, the nerf gun being used every now and then, but after the initial outbreak on Virgil’s side, it had been much calmer. It was a peak of feelings and tension - somewhat usual between them but the more they met, the less intense and often they had been.  
This was what mattered to Virgil. He wanted to stop being so sensitive to everything and panic or snap at all things happening around him, especially people talking to him.  
  
When the ending rolled around, Emile invited a conclusion as always and gave Virgil the usual revelation of trying new things.  
In a few sessions, Emile would return a special sort of letter Virgil had written about the therapy when they met for the first time. It was a method he used to show his clients how they struggled before and whether they actually felt different from what how they used to be.  
If they did not feel as if there was any meaningful progress, then he would suggest other therapists and so on or different approaches.  
  
When Virgil got his, he returned the item with a letter of his own. Less about the therapy session but more about addressing his feelings to Emile.  
The retail worker took a break from seeing Emile for about two weeks but joined in after this and continued working with more vigour. Picani shared the enthusiasm when he read along the lines of Virgil’s response he had written.  
  
Sometimes his clients surprised him after all.  
The young adult had written about his personal reflections of how much it helped him already and how he kept a journal to show his steps of improvement. There were certain photocopies of the journal pages and highlighted paragraphs and other lines to refer to Virgil’s bettering such as talking to strangers willingly, having less breakdowns and finally getting some more and qualitatively and quantitatively high sleep.  
  
One of the last notes placed themselves in his memory as much as gently putting a hand over his heart as if to warm it up. And warm it up it did.  
They continued working together with breaks here and there to give Virgil more reflection time as he figured himself out further and let the learned lessons sink in and show in his behaviour.  
  
Emile never backed away from his nerf gun, not for himself nor for others. Even as he retired he kept it around to remind himself of helping others and being helped by others as time passes.  
The spirit of helping and supporting your next travelled from Remy to Emile and eventually rested with Virgil who took it upon him to aid his friends as much as he could.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story and i hope it gets to give you some joy during these potentially heavy times! It is okay, you are valid and you are loved. ♥
> 
> If you wanna jump in and have me add tags or you want to stay updated about certain things/just ask me stuff or hang around, my writing tumblr is: https://spacegaywritings.tumblr.com/  
> my main is: https://spacegayparty.tumblr.com/  
> you are all welcome ♥ have great times ♥


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